


Just Doing What We're Told

by scrub456



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Books, Fire, Friendship, Gen, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-29 15:04:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19402777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrub456/pseuds/scrub456
Summary: "Surely you don't believe this was me."Crowley frowned. "Well, it wasn't me."Fire has a way of exposing priorities.





	Just Doing What We're Told

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notjustmom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/gifts).



> For my heart, who nudged me to give Good Omens a watch, and who encourages me always.
> 
> ******
> 
> I haven't read the book. My apologies to anyone who has. Also to Neil Gaiman and the memory of Terry Pratchett. But the series is a lot of fun. 
> 
> This is probably going to just be a one shot. But with potential for additions later. Maybe.

**48 BC**

It’s a common misconception that the Library of Alexandria was laid waste by fire. It wasn’t. Not entirely, at least. And never all at once.

Though not for lack of trying.

The problem with a society whose most reliable form of data storage was papyrus scrolls -- stacks and stacks of the dry, brittle things -- and whose greatest technological development was a shaky, at best, grasp on the principles of combustion, was that its two most brilliant resources were never intended for cohabitation.

Heaven knows (specifically, one particular celestial denizen and former wielder of a not insignificant flaming sword) humans did not discover fire on their own. Nor had they fully ever understood the vengeful reckoning for which fire had always been intended.

Though they have certainly enjoyed pretending they do.

* * *

“You know, even if I did want to follow orders, you’ve ruined it by doing the most fun bits without me.” Crowley (he hadn’t fully settled on the name change. Crowley. _Crow_ ley. It was a sight better than the hateful _Crawley_ he’d been dubbed by those bastards... Still. He’d ask Aziraphale’s opinion, but he’d only suggest something tragic and inane, and there was literally no way in Hell he was going to let himself be called Antony… or some other romantical nonsense) adjusted the gold serpent shaped brooch with rubies for eyes that pinned his cloak to his shoulder, and swept the heavy fabric behind him with a flourish. He sauntered slowly from the shadows, as billowing black smoke curled dramatically out and around him from behind. With a sigh he pursed his lips in an amused, if slightly put out, pout, and crossed his arms over his chest to wait.

Aziraphale appeared calm, his hands clasped loosely in front of him, but Crawley -- Cra- _Crow_ ley? -- knew he was anything but. Inhaling deeply, Aziraphale sneezed once, then twice, then cocked an eyebrow as he attempted to watch Crawley not so very discreetly with his peripheral vision.

With a roll of his eyes, Craw… Cr _o_ w… bah… huffed and smiled indulgently. "You've been practicing."

"Oh! You noticed!" Aziraphale beamed as he turned to face his companion. Dressed all in white robes, in the style of the philosophers of the day, the glow from the consuming fire growing around them cast him in a soft, changing light.

Crowley -- yes. Crowley. Though he'd try it out a few decades before springing it on Aziraphale. The angel did so hate changes -- scoffed. "Angel, we don't need to breathe. Why waste your time learning to sneeze?"

"It's what," he huffed indignantly, "it's something people do. It's endearing."

"It's a weakness." Crowley thought that in the fire light he could almost see Aziraphale's halo. 

"It's not!" Wringing his still clasped hands, Aziraphale paused long enough to notice the demon's brooch, his military style leather boots, and the tunic that might have been indecent, but for the fact that the tempter himself was the one wearing it. He frowned at Crowley's -- who he only knew as Crawley -- knees before meeting his eyes once more.

"It's a sign of disease and plague." Crowley motioned to the scorched pillars and crackling flames around them. "Why'd you want to be like them anyway?" The heat was starting to get to him, he could only imagine how it was affecting Aziraphale.

"I'm only trying to fit in." Aziraphale glanced around them and his shoulders dropped in defeat. "They could be capable of such greatness." He nodded to an only slightly singed pile of scrolls. "The sciences. Philosophy. Poetry. Their innovation is astounding."

Crowley tilted his head and studied the Angel. "We helped... You know…" He rolled his eyes to look Heavenward, pointed up with one finger, and nodded once with a shrug. "They still don't know the stars are just flaming balls of gas. Never even been there, have they?"

"But they _will!_ Oh, the potential." Aziraphale grinned.

"Then why are you lot burning their records?" Crowley turned slowly, taking in the destruction. He stopped just to Aziraphale's left, facing behind him, and watched the flames lapping their way ever nearer.

Aziraphale remained facing forward, to the library collection, his left shoulder nearly brushing Crowley's. He could not disguise his sorrow at the possibility of all those scrolls being destroyed. "Surely you don't believe this was me."

Crowley frowned. "Well, it wasn't me." He turned his face toward Aziraphale. "War?" The angel only nodded. "Huh. So, how is she? Is she looking after your sword?" With a smirk and a wink he turned his attention back to gently urging the nearest flames away from them.

"It's not… She-" Aziraphale stomped his foot once. "Crawley, what are we going to do?"

"Oh, I don't know, this all seems very like something my bosses would issue a commendation for." He shrugged and feigned nonchalance. "If the proper paperwork were to be filed."

" _Crawley,_ how could you even…" Aziraphale looked truly scandalized.

"And your side can't be too happy, what with all the talk of 'Jupiter this,' and 'Neptune that,' and 'oh, Venus!'" He waved his hand dismissively. "Wouldn't be surprised if Gabriel himself sent War here to put a stop to it. Blasphemous." He did his best not to laugh as Aziraphale spluttered in shock.

"They- he wouldn't!" Eyes wide he turned to face Crowley. "You don't really think so?"

Crowley's frown did nothing to hide his amusement. "Headquarters hates competition."

"Oh… but the scrolls!" Aziraphale fretted and wrung his hands.

"You know," Crowley leaned in conspiratorially. "They'd probably never notice if some of the scrolls went missing. With all the destruction, War's very good at what she does, and Pestilence won't be far behind, they probably won't even check."

" _Steal_ the scrolls?" He pressed one hand over his chest and gaped. "Crawley, I _couldn't_!"

"Who said anything about stealing?" Crowley turned so that they were face to face. " _Borrowing._ Really you'd be protecting them. A hero. Think of the good you'd be doing for all of mankind by preserving their records."

"A hero?" Aziraphale whispered as his mouth quirked into a small smile. He stood a bit taller.

"Just think of it." Crowley placed his hands on Aziraphale's shoulders and stared at him with something akin to adoration. "All that potential."

"Right." With a look of determination, Aziraphale nodded and patted Crowley's hand that rested on his right shoulder. "Of course you're right. I'll collect them for safe keeping. It's going to take a bit of a miracle to restore and remove them…"

"I'll manage here while you go," Crowley winked and squeezed Aziraphale's shoulders before nudging him toward the scrolls. He glared at a bank of flames that had burned too near and it smothered itself out. "I'm _proud_ of you, Angel."

"Prou- wait. Pride? Oh. Uhm…" Aziraphale's steps faltered and he looked back at Crowley with his brow furrowed. "Crawley, I…"

"I'm thinking of changing it!" He rushed in order to distract the Angel. Aziraphale frowned in confusion. "The name. Crawley."

"Really? Is that…" He allowed Crowley to guide him to the nearest pile of scrolls and start stacking them haphazardly in his arms. "Ah, uhm… Can you _do_ that?"

"As long as my paperwork is done, they don't care what I do. Besides, I…" He chuckled and smiled fondly at the Angel buried under the precarious heap of scrolls.

"Have you decided on a new one then?" Aziraphale shifted carefully, trying not to drop a single scroll.

Crowley scrunched his face and shook his head. "It's stupid. Just thinking about it."

Aziraphale sighed and quirked a tiny smile. "You'll let me know? When… If you do?"

"Yes. Yeah, of course." Clearing his throat, because he had been practicing as well (and Aziraphale nodded his approval), Crowley added one more scroll to Aziraphale's arms and then turned him toward the exit. He tried to convince himself the heat rising up his neck and to his cheeks was a result of the fire. With a firm pat on the back, Crowley urged him out into the street. "Paperwork, Angel. Don't forget. Gotta make it believable."

Aziraphale cocked an eyebrow. "Crawley, what are you…"

"Quickly, Angel. Before they find you out!" Crowley motioned for him to go.

With a sigh Aziraphale was gone.

Crowley turned back to the library and with a thunderous look on his face stomped back inside. The flames trembled and attempted to retreat. "Disgraceful. Honestly, what was _that_? And you!" He growled at the embers casting sparks too near where the scrolls had been. They cowered and hissed as the heat drained from them.

"That was too close. You're done. All of you. I'm just… I can't stand to look at you right now." Turning so his cloak swung dramatically out behind him, the flames were choked out in his wake, leaving only slightly charred pillars and smouldering heaps of ash where the scrolls had once been.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the OneRepublic song "Counting Stars." 
> 
> I see this life  
> Like a swinging vine  
> Swing my heart across the line  
> In my faces flashing signs  
> Seek it out and ye shall find  
> The old, but I'm not that old  
> Young, but I'm not that bold  
> And I don't think the world is sold  
> I'm just doing what we're told  
> I, feel something so right  
> Doing the wrong thing  
> I, feel something so wrong  
> But doing the right thing  
> I could lie, could lie, could lie  
> Everything that kills me makes me feel alive
> 
> Cliche? Yes. Do I care? Eh. Not so much.


End file.
